Beyond the Looking Glass
by Lindira
Summary: In one moment with a mirror, two roads diverged. One road led to the defeat of the Blight within a year, while the other results in a Ferelden where all is not as it should be. Mostly AU. Alistair/F!Mahariel.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Dragon Age and its lovely characters don't belong to me. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

"Beyond the Looking Glass"

The weak winter sun shone high in the blue-gray sky over Denerim. The town square bustled with activity as children played in the street and merchants shouted for customers. Illyria found it hard to believe that this place was utterly destroyed and crawling with darkspawn only two years prior. Absently scratching behind Satsuma's ears, she waited patiently in the marketplace, watching her husband knock on the door to his sister's house. Alistair exchanged a few awkward pleasantries with Goldanna before handing her a small coin purse. Without a word or a smile, she nodded and disappeared into the house again. He stared at the closed door for a moment before walking back to where Illyria stood.

"Are you okay?" she asked, touching his elbow gently.

Alistair shrugged. "She actually talked to me this time. Remembered my name, even. I think we're making progress," he replied with a note of sarcasm.

Illyria got onto her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. "It's a start, _emma lath_."

He sighed. "I know I should probably just give up. But every time we come here, I feel… I don't know. Obligated."

She nodded. "You don't have to explain to me, Alistair. I understand." She peeked into their own coin purse and frowned. "But we may be sleeping under the stars tonight. I think you gave her our last two sovereigns."

He shook his head and pointed. "They put new postings up on the Chanter's Board today!" He pulled her along to the Chantry just around the corner. "We're sure to get at least enough for a night's stay at the Gnawed Noble."

Illyria perused the postings. "Most of these will take us the whole day, Alistair. Look, this guy's still looking for someone to find his sextant. What's a sextant anyway?"

"Not all of them are wild goose chases, Lyri," Alistair said, taking one of the postings from the Board. "Here, the templars need help with a group of apostates just past the Alienage. That sounds easy enough for the Hero of Ferelden and a Grey Warden." Satsuma wagged his tail and gave a happy bark. "And a dog," Alistair added.

She smiled. "You'd think the Hero of Ferelden could get a free room."

"No gratitude these days, right?" he said, smiling back. He waved the posting in her face. "So? What do you think?"

She pushed his hand away from her and laughed. "You really don't want to camp out tonight, do you?"

"You Dalish may be used to sleeping on the ground, but some of us have higher standards. Some of us slept in stables."

"Oh, all right," Illyria relented. She stamped their seal on the posting and put it back on the board. "And for the record, we slept on cots or in the _aravels_, not on the ground."

Alistair grinned. "I know, I know."

They crossed the square and strolled through the Alienage. Though some of the elves were wary of Alistair, others approached them happily, recognizing them as the Wardens who saved their home two years ago. The reconstruction was slower here than in the rest of the city, as resources available to the elves were still limited. Even still, most of the homes had been rebuilt, and the bridge the archdemon had destroyed was almost completely repaired.

They arrived at the building the Chanter had marked on their map. The building was old and dirty, but appeared to have been untouched by the destruction of the Battle of Denerim. Alistair and Illyria each drew their swords as they approached the door.

"You think we should knock?" Alistair said with a wink.

She tossed him his helmet, smiling as she put on her own. "Yes, let's."

They reared back and crashed through the door, shards of wood flying everywhere. The startled mages jumped up from their benches around the large meeting hall. Bolts of energy flew through the air in every direction. Alistair charged forward, knocking down two of the mages with his shield. Illyria covered his flank, easily slicing through several men with her greatsword. Satsuma ran past them, tackling a mage and mauling him.

Alistair purged the area of magic, taking down the protective spells the apostates put up around them. He nodded to his wife, who surged forward on light feet and swept her sword in a giant arc. The mages fell backward by the force of the swing, and Alistair came up in Illyria's wake, finishing them off. He raised his shield suddenly, pulling her close to him to protect them both from the rain of fire that poured down on top of them.

"Thanks!" she yelled over the roar of the flames.

He grinned at her over his shoulder. "Sure, don't mention it!"

There were few apostates left now. Two of them tried to flee, but the Wardens blocked them from the only exit. Illyria easily picked them off as they tried to blast past them. After a moment's concentration, Alistair released a Holy Smite upon the remaining apostates and they crumpled before them.

One of the mages was not yet unconscious, his lips moving frantically. He drew a knife and plunged it into his hand, drawing on the blood's power. A column of energy burst forth from his hands.

Still too far to reach the blood mage, Illyria pushed her husband as hard as she could. He toppled away from her, and the column slammed into her, surrounding her in humming waves of blue light.

Illyria's skin burned white hot, and she felt herself dissipating like smoke in the wind. She cried out, but no voice escaped her lips. The last thing she saw and heard was Alistair screaming her name.

* * *

"Lyri!" Alistair watched in horror as the spell consumed her. Her body faded into nothing, her face contorted in an expression of terrible pain. "Lyri!"

She was gone.

Alistair was at his feet in an instant. He ran to the blood mage and pulled him up roughly by the collar. "What did you do to her?" he demanded to know. "Bring her back!" Satsuma came up behind him, growling menacingly.

The mage spat blood in Alistair's face and grinned. "I can't."

"Can't, or won't?" Alistair raised the blade of his sword and touched it against the mage's throat.

"Take your pick," the mage replied. "I'm dying anyway. She's not coming back."

Panic raged within Alistair's mind. "Is she dead?"

The apostate's eyes were slowly closing, the evil grin plastered on his face.

Alistair shook him. "Answer me! Is she dead?"

"She no longer exists in this world," he answered, blood gurgling up his throat. With that, he was dead.

Alistair dropped the mage to the floor and fell to his knees. He stared numbly at the bodies of the dead mages scattered around the room, unable to feel anything, his world having shattered around him in a matter of minutes.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey! Are you hurt? Can you move?"

Illyria stirred, her head throbbing with pain. She was sure her head must be cracked open, but as she raised her hands to feel it, it felt undamaged under her helmet.

"Can you sit up?" the voice was asking her, and she was comforted by its familiarity.

"I think so…" she murmured. She sat up slowly, groaning at the movement. Her vision was blurry and refused to focus, despite rapid blinking. "What happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me. Are you all right?"

"I think so," she said again. "Last I remember was a blood mage and that strange spell…"

"A blood mage?" the voice said incredulously. "Down here?"

Illyria frowned in confusion. "Down where, Alistair?"

There was a pause. "How… How did you know my name?"

She looked up at him in surprise, her eyes finally starting to cooperate. "Very funny," she said, a chuckle starting in her throat. But as the image of him focused, she knew something was wrong. Alistair looked down at her, his expression filled with confusion and concern. But his hair was a bit longer, and a short beard covered his face. "How long was I out?" she asked.

"I don't-" Alistair began to answer, but was interrupted by a man's shouting.

"Shem! Hey, where are you?" the other voice called. That one was familiar too, but Illyria could not immediately place it

"I'm over here! I found someone!" Alistair shouted back, then sighed. "I really wish he wouldn't call me that…" he muttered.

Illyria looked around and suddenly realized she was no longer in the meeting hall. She wasn't even in Denerim. Walls of stone surrounded her on all sides, and now that she was more aware of her surroundings, she smelled a distinct hint of sulfur in the air. "What are we doing in the Deep Roads?"

Alistair smiled at her kindly. "I know what I'm doing here, my lady, but I'm sorry to say I don't know why you're here."

"Alistair, I don't understand."

He frowned and looked her in the eyes, searching her face intently. "Have we met before?"

Illyria just stared at him, dumbfounded by the ridiculousness of the question. "I don't… Of course we…"

An elf rounded the corner just then and trotted up to them. "There you are. You shouldn't run off, we've almost…" His voice trailed off as his breath caught in his throat. "_Lethallan_?" he breathed. He took off his helmet.

Illyria gasped. "Tamlen?"

Tamlen ran to her and caught her in a hug so tight she could almost feel it through her platemail. She sat, stunned, not knowing how to move. "Thank the gods, _lethallan_!" he exclaimed. "I… I can't believe it! I thought you were dead!"

Illyria wrapped her arms around him, unable to say the words that came to her mind. _And I know you're dead, Tamlen. I was the one who killed you._

"What are you doing here? Are you hurt?" He pulled away from her and looked her over. "What happened?"

"I don't know," she was finally able to reply. "I just woke up, and I don't really remember how I got here." She paused, wondering. _Is this the Fade? It has to be… How could Tamlen be here otherwise?_

"Perhaps you hit your head," he mused, "but you seem to be fine now. Can you stand?"

She nodded and let him help her to her feet. She felt a little unsteady at the sudden movement, but her legs held her steady. Her head throbbed with a dull ache, but she otherwise seemed to have recovered from the spell's effects.

Tamlen turned to Alistair. "This is my best friend, Illyria – the one I told you about," he said proudly. "We've been friends since we were children."

Alistair took Illyria's hand and shook it. "Pleased to meet you. And I'm Alistair… Though, somehow you already knew that." He gave her a curious look.

Illyria avoided the unspoken question, and was struck by the strangeness of being introduced to her own husband. "Pleased… to meet you too."

"I still can't believe you're really here," Tamlen said to her, smiling.

Her heart warmed at the familiarity of his smile and his presence. Despite her confusion, she couldn't help but smile back. "I don't even really know where 'here' is," she replied. "I can see we're in the Deep Roads. But where? How far are we from Orzammar?"

"You know of Orzammar?" he said, surprised. "We are miles away from the _durgen'len_ city now. It would take us several hours to get back."

"What are you doing this far into the Deep Roads? Hunting darkspawn?"

Alistair nodded. "Broodmothers, to be precise. We think if we kill off some of them, it might thin the numbers of darkspawn on the surface. Cut them off at the source, so to speak. Maybe give us a chance to win against the Blight."

Illyria blinked. "You're fighting against a Blight?"

"It's what we do," Tamlen told her. "I'm a Grey Warden now. Alistair here is one too."

"Yes, but…" She floundered for words, confused all over again. "What year is this?"

Alistair exchanged similarly confused glances with Tamlen. "9:33 Dragon, of course."

"And the Blight isn't over yet?" she asked incredulously.

Alistair laughed. His laughter was different than she was used to, carrying undertones of bitterness. "You make it sound so easy. It's only been three years since it started. The last two Blights lasted well over a decade. The one before them, 90 years. The first one went on for nearly 200 years. So, no. It's not over yet."

"But…" Illyria protested, but the words died in her throat. If this was the Fade, the demons would be hard-pressed to make her want to stay in a world where the Blight still wore on.

"Would you like to help us hunt broodmothers, _lethallan_?" Tamlen asked. "I see you have fine armor and weapons. I have an extra bow, if you don't want to carry around that greatsword you have with you."

Illyria touched her sword fondly. The otherworldly metal glowed bright blue and hummed with power. "No, thank you, Tamlen. I prefer the greatsword."

"Can you really wield a sword that's bigger than you are?" Alistair asked in an amused tone.

"I think you'll find I handle large swords quite well, Alistair," Illyria replied with a wink.

He coughed, and blushed furiously. She grinned at him, pleased that this Alistair was not so terribly different from hers.

Tamlen gave her a curious look. "Let's head out, then," he said to them.

They walked in silence for a while as Tamlen led them further into the Deep Roads. Illyria felt strange not being the leader for a change and watched her old friend walk confidently toward the unknown. Fade or no, so much was different about this world already, and she wondered if Tamlen was also. _But he is different from your Tamlen_, she told herself. _Your Tamlen is dead_.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear Alistair come up to trot alongside her. "So, you're a Grey Warden too, right?"

She blinked, roused from her thoughts. "Yes."

He nodded. "I thought so. I can feel you." His cheeks turned a sudden shade of pink. "That is, I mean… I sense you, like I do with other Grey Wardens."

She smiled at him reassuringly. "I knew what you meant."

Tamlen overheard and stopped to look at her. "You're a Grey Warden too? How did that happen?"

Illyria paused before responding. "I was sick with the taint. A Grey Warden found me and convinced me to take the Joining to save my life."

"Truly?" Tamlen said, surprise apparent in his voice. "That's the same thing that happened to me. Was it because of the mirror?"

She nodded.

"It's lucky that someone found you. When you disappeared through the mirror, they told me you were as good as dead." He looked at his hands. "The clan held a funeral for you and everything."

"I… disappeared through the mirror?" she repeated slowly.

"You don't remember? You touched it and there was a flash of light." Tamlen shook his head as if trying to rid it of the memory. "I blacked out, and the next thing I remember was that _shemlen_ Grey Warden standing over me."

"Duncan," Alistair corrected, gritting his teeth.

"I remember his name," Tamlen snapped.

"Then use it." Alistair glared at him.

"Anyway," Tamlen continued, "the Keeper was able to heal me for a short time, but if I was to survive, I needed the immunity from the Taint that the Joining provides. I'm guessing something similar happened with you?"

Illyria frowned. "Yes, something very much like that…"

Silence returned to their little group as they forged ahead through the winding caverns. The tension between her two companions was palpable. Alistair regarded the elf with obvious, but quiet resentment, while Tamlen didn't seem to regard Alistair at all. Illyria had always wondered if these two men – they who were the two most important people in her life – would have liked each other had they ever met. She supposed she didn't have to wonder anymore.

There was a tingling in her spine that grew more urgent as they went deeper through the caverns, and she could almost hear a soft, unintelligible conversation going on in her head. "Tamlen, do you feel that?" she asked her friend. "There's a nest up ahead."

He nodded. "Tell Shem to get ready."

Illyria opened her mouth to rebuke him for his lack of respect for Alistair, but decided now was not a good time to get into it. She turned and beckoned to him. Alistair must have felt the broodmother's presence as well, as he already had his sword in hand.

"He's ready," she whispered to Tamlen.

He nodded again and docked an arrow in his bow. "Let's go."

They crept into the broodmother's chamber. Perhaps it couldn't sense them, or perhaps had mistaken their presence as other darkspawn, because it did not react when they entered. It was massive and grotesque, its tentacles waving about almost lazily in wide flicking motions. The chamber smelled of blood and rotting flesh. Illyria struggled not to gag at the stench. Tamlen pulled back the arrow in his bow, took careful aim, and sent it flying.

The arrow hit home in the broodmother's chest, and it immediately reared up in agony, bellowing and thrashing its tentacles. The Wardens were on their feet in an instant, ready to charge. But from close beyond the entrance to the chamber, a piercing noise echoed through the Deep Roads.

"Shrieks!" Alistair hissed.

"Go, both of you," Illyria ordered them. "Kill the broodmother. I'll hold the others at bay."

Concern flashed on both their faces, but there wasn't time to argue. Illyria turned toward the entrance as she heard the men fly into battle, bellowing fearsome war cries. In the blink of an eye, a shriek appeared before her, and its slashing claws missed her chest by a quarter of an inch. Others had arrived as well, filling the entryway with more claws and gaping mouths. Illyria pushed them back with a war cry of her own, and swung at them with sweeping arcs of her glowing greatsword. Despite her massive armor, she danced quick steps around the creatures, using both hilt and blade to force them back. It was a dance she knew quite well. She slammed her sword down on top of one shriek before sweeping up in one fluid motion to catch another with a mighty blow. Elf and sword as one swirled around and amongst the darkspawn until all of them had fallen dead at her feet.

Sweat beaded heavily on her brow, and she pulled off her helmet to wipe her face. She leaned on her sword for a moment to catch her breath, feeling at the few places on her armor that had dented under the swipe of the shrieks' claws.

A shout of horror came from behind her. Illyria whipped around and ran toward it, pulling her helmet back on. But as she neared the broodmother, she could tell it was already dead.

"Its face!" Tamlen was screaming. "_Her_ face! By the gods, this can't be!" He backed away from the broodmother, his bow falling from his hands.

"Tamlen, what-" Illyria began to ask as she approached, but Alistair stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "Alistair…"

"Don't look," he said in a quiet, choked voice. "Just… don't look."

But it was too late. She saw.

The broodmother's ears were pointed, and though the head had swollen from the taint, it was clear that its face was once slender and delicate. A Dalish tattoo swirled in intricate knots on its forehead, converging to a point where its nose would have been. And resting against its collarbone was a pendant of roughly carved ironbark hanging from a braided leather cord.

Illyria stepped toward the creature and fell to her knees, clutching the ironbark pendant at her own throat. It had been a gift from Tamlen when they were teenagers, during that one summer he was apprenticed to Master Ilen, and found he had no talent for woodworking. But it was the first piece he had ever finished, and Illyria had worn it proudly ever since. Her fingers rubbed against a silverite ring as she touched the pendant. Her wedding ring, held safely by the leather cord. Rare tears sprang to her eyes as she looked up at Alistair, who looked back down at her with deep sadness.

"Is this the Fade?" she whispered, her words coming out almost ghostlike from her numb lips. "This has to be the Fade, right? How could this possibly be real?"

Alistair crouched down beside her and put a hand on her shoulder.

Illyria searched his face imploringly. "This isn't real, right?" she pleaded. "Please, _emma lath_, tell me none of this is real!" Tears fell from her cheeks, unbidden.

"I'm sorry," Alistair told her, his voice broken and heartbreaking. "I am so very sorry."

Illyria took comfort in the hand on her shoulder, yet wished it could be more. She leaned into it, her chest heaving in hiccupping sighs. After a few moments, she raised her head to look for Tamlen.

And found him, holding an arrow to her throat.

"Maker's Breath!" Alistair cursed. "Tamlen, what are you doing?"

Tamlen ignored him, never taking his eyes off of Illyria. "Who are you?" he demanded. "_What_ are you?"

"I am who I always have been, Tamlen," she answered, meeting his gaze.

"And who is that, exactly?" He pressed the arrow to the skin of her neck. A small, single bead of blood came to the surface. "A demon? A shape-shifter? A new kind of darkspawn?"

"I am your friend, _lethallin_."

He shook his head. "No. My friend is dead," he said, cocking his head in the broodmother's direction. "I just killed my friend. I don't know what you are, but you can't be her. She has the pendant I gave to her."

Illyria slowly and gently brought her hands to her neckline and pulled her pendant out from under the armor. "You mean, this one?"

He shook his head. "That can't be the same one. And I didn't make two."

"Must I really prove myself to you, Tamlen?"

"I think you should," he replied. "Though, I don't know what could possibly convince me."

"Tamlen, please," Alistair spoke up. "Is this really necessary?"

"Quiet, Shem!" Tamlen hissed. "This isn't your concern."

"It's okay, Alistair," Illyria said and turned her attention back to Tamlen. "Shall I regale us all with the story of how you were almost killed by a bear on your first solo hunt? Or how you nearly burned down Master Ilen's _aravel_ when you were making this pendant?"

Tamlen's grip on the bow faltered. "Anyone might know about those things, if they knew our clan. It was public knowledge."

She smirked. "Something more private, then? Let's see…" She paused, thinking. "How about I tell Alistair what you were doing the time I caught you behind the halla pen when you were fourteen?"

Tamlen's face instantly turned bright red, and Illyria was tempted to smile despite herself. "You promised you wouldn't ever speak of that again."

"Was that me? If I'm a demon, I made no such promises."

He lowered the bow and arrow and fell to his knees. Taking the weapons from his hands, she pulled him into a tight embrace.

"I'm sorry, _lethallan_," he said, his body shuddering against her.

"I know."

"How is this even possible? How can there be two of you?"

Illyria sighed. "That I don't know."

Alistair stepped forward. "I think I might have an explanation," he said softly. "But let's first leave this place far behind us."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thank you for the kind reviews so far!

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Tamlen insisted on building a makeshift funeral pyre for the broodmother before they left. It was difficult, because wood was scarce in the Deep Roads. They collected wood from nearby torches and darkspawn effigies and supplemented that with some moss they found growing on the rocks. Alistair and Illyria placed the wood and moss around the broodmother while Tamlen grimly cut the pendant away from its neck, putting it in a pouch for safekeeping. They set the pyre ablaze, and stood there for a moment, staring as the flames flickered up and began to consume the creature. Then Illyria took both Tamlen and Alistair by the hand and led them away.

They walked for about an hour before they finally set up camp in an abandoned thaig, next to an underwater stream. None of them had said a word since leaving the broodmother's chamber. They went about their business in silence – building a small fire, unfurling bedrolls, making dinner – until they all sat around the fire, listening to the crackling flames and bubbling nug soup.

"So, I used to read books in the Chantry library when I could," Alistair began softly. "Anything to get away from the Chant of Light for a while. There were books on science and philosophy. I learned a lot from them."

Illyria remembered her Alistair mentioning this to her. She felt an ache in her heart, thinking about him. She imagined he thought she was dead.

"Anyway," he continued, "there was this book, with theories about the universe. Not really approved by the Chantry, but they didn't forbid it either, since that's all they were – just theories. No proof or anything. So there was this part in there about other universes, other worlds. That maybe when there were, say, two possible outcomes to a situation, the universe would split in two. Then both outcomes would come true and play out in their separate universes. If that's true, it means there are an infinite amount of universes or worlds out there where all things that possibly could have been have actually happened."

"That's ridiculous," Tamlen said.

Alistair shrugged. "Yes, but so is having two of the same person."

"It does make sense, ridiculous as it is," Illyria said. "Everything is so different here. That's why I thought I was in the Fade. Nothing is as it should be."

"But if you came from another world, _lethallan_, how did you get here?" Tamlen asked.

She clenched her teeth. "That damn blood mage in Denerim," she hissed. "He cast a spell on me. I remember feeling like I was fading away before I woke up here."

"Denerim still exists in your world?" Alistair looked surprised.

She nodded.

"What else is different?"

Illyria sighed. "So much. Tamlen, where I'm from, you were sent through the mirror instead of me."

"I'm a darkspawn?" Tamlen said, horrified.

"No, but you did become a ghoul. You and a bunch of shrieks attacked our camp one night." She looked at her hands. "I… had to kill you, _lethallin_. I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "Well, I guess today makes us even."

Alistair began serving them the bland soup. "You were surprised about the Blight too."

"Yes," she said, taking a bowl from him. "For me, it ended two years ago."

"But when did it start?"

Illyria paused, inwardly wincing at the reaction she knew was coming. "Three years ago."

"What?" Alistair exclaimed incredulously. "The Blight only lasted a year? That's impossible!"

She shook her head. "No, not impossible. Improbable, perhaps. But not impossible."

"Then the Grey Wardens must have survived at Ostagar. Or Ostagar never happened at all," he insisted.

She shook her head again. "No, nearly all the Grey Wardens died. Teyrn Loghain quit the field and left the King, his army, and the Grey Wardens to die. There were just two of us who survived that day."

"But that's what happened here." Alistair's eyes looked stricken with guilt. She knew he would react this way, that he would look for something that gave their world such an advantage over theirs. Otherwise, he knew the reason they had failed. "You were one of them, the ones that survived. I gather that much. Who was the other?"

Illyria frowned, looking at Tamlen, who sat in silence, staring at the flames.

"Who was the other Grey Warden, Illyria?" Alistair asked again.

"It was you, Alistair."

He blinked at her. "Me? Then… that's how you knew my name when we met?"

Illyria nodded, still watching Tamlen.

"But I failed to stop the Blight. We failed."

"I know."

Alistair looked at Tamlen then too, and realization dawned in his eyes. "You…"

"You both look at me like I was the one who unleashed the archdemon on the world," Tamlen said softly, his voice heavy with bitterness.

"It's not your fault, _lethallin,_" Illyria told him.

"I know that!" he snapped. "Don't you think I know that?"

"He's the only thing that's different," Alistair muttered.

"Yeah?" Tamlen challenged. "Did you ever think that maybe if you had stepped up to your responsibilities as the senior Grey Warden, we might not be in this mess? You're the one who deferred to me. I didn't want to lead anyone."

"Please, don't fight," Illyria said wearily. "It won't help things to keep placing blame on one another."

Tamlen threw his arms up and stood. "If I'm such a terrible leader, you take over, _lethallan_. I'm tired of this." With that, he turned and escaped into the tent.

Illyria let out an exasperated breath and sipped at her soup. The bits of nug and root vegetables did little to make the soup taste any less like boiled water. She forced herself to eat it, though, feeling the familiar Grey Warden appetite pulling at her stomach.

"It's pretty bad, huh?" Alistair said, sighing.

She gave him a small smile. "Not as bad as your lamb stew."

He chuckled. "You know about that, huh?"

"When we were traveling, you used to make it all the time," Illyria said, fond memories springing to her mind. "It was awful, and you knew it too. But you still kept making it."

Alistair smiled at her. A tiny thing, tinged with sadness. "Well, you don't have to worry about that this time. No lamb to be had in all of Ferelden." He sighed again. "Not much of anything left in Ferelden now."

Illyria served herself another bowl of soup, still hungry despite the tastelessness of it. It was the first time she noticed, but this Alistair was thinner than hers. His armor and beard hid it well, but she now saw how his skin clung to his bones just a bit tighter. "Slim pickings, huh?"

He nodded, pouring himself more soup as well. "Almost all the farms are burned down or tainted now. Orzammar is the only place in Ferelden that's still thriving. There are a lot of refugees there, people who couldn't make it to the Free Marches or Orlais in time. Some Orlesian merchants come through bringing vegetables, dried and smoked meats, that sort of thing. But it's dangerous, so most don't even bother anymore. I think they're starting to worry about providing for themselves in case the Blight turns toward them next." He took a few gulps of soup. "Nugs are always plentiful, though."

"I'm sorry. That sounds awful."

"The nugs? They're not half bad," he said with a laugh. There it was again, sharp bitterness behind the usual warmth of his laughter. "I am getting sick of them, though."

"You know what I meant."

He nodded and sighed. "I know. Best not to think on it too much, and hope for better days." He put down his empty bowl and looked at her seriously. "I think, maybe now you're here, we might see those better days."

Illyria smiled and shrugged. "That's nice of you to say, but I don't know how much I'll be able to change things."

"But you ended the Blight in a year," he insisted. He stepped around the campfire and sat down beside her. "A year! And it can't have been me that ended it. I'm here in this world, and the Blight's still going strong."

"That's not your fault. Or Tamlen's."

"Maybe." The firelight danced in his eyes as he looked at her. "Maybe it doesn't have to do with us at all. Maybe it's not because of me or Tamlen that we failed, but rather because we didn't have you."

"I don't know, _emma lath_," she said, feeling warm under his gaze. "I think I was just lucky."

Alistair expression became curious. "What does that mean? You called me that before."

"Hmm?"

"_Emma lath_, was it? What does it mean?"

Illyria's face flushed, and desperately hoped she didn't look as red as she felt. She hadn't meant to call him that. It had just slipped out. "I… it's nothing," she stammered. "It doesn't mean anything. It's just a nickname."

"A nickname, huh?" He grinned at her. There was no sadness in his expression this time. "Something you call the other Alistair?"

"Yes, well…"

"Are we friends, then?" he asked eagerly.

Illyria paused before answering. She wondered if she should tell him the truth. But she was a stranger to this Alistair, and she didn't want to make their group dynamic any more awkward than it already was. It was bad enough with the two men bickering at every opportunity. She knew how Tamlen had felt about her – how he had always felt about her. She didn't want to give Tamlen any more reason to hate Alistair. "Something like that," she said finally.

"Are we close?"

"Yes, I suppose we are." She smiled. "Why is this so important to you?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I don't really have many friends. None at all, actually. Not since all the other Grey Wardens died."

She nodded. "Yeah, I noticed you and Tamlen aren't on the best of terms."

"To put it lightly," he agreed, sighing. "I think… well, he lost you just before he met me. I think it must have hit him hard, and he took it out on me. And I'm human, so that doesn't help matters."

She nodded again and began cleaning out their bowls. "Humans killed his parents when he was five."

"But you don't feel the same way about humans, do you? You're friends with the other Alistair, after all," he pointed out. "And I remember Tamlen saying that humans were responsible for your parents' deaths too."

"It was different for me. I don't remember my parents. I was very young when they died." She put the bowls and small cooking pot away in their pack and sat back down on a bedroll. "I had a hard time trusting humans at first, of course. Any Dalish knows to be at least cautious when dealing with them. But humans are like anybody. Some are good, some are bad, most fall somewhere in between. I have a lot of friends now, of all races."

Alistair smiled. "That sounds nice," he said, and began fidgeting with his gauntlet. "Do… do you think we could ever be friends?"

She laughed. "Of course. We can be friends now, if you like."

His smile widened. "I think I'd like that very much." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Now, it's rather late. I'll take the first watch. You go ahead and get some sleep."

Illyria did not protest, feeling weary after the very long day. Had she really been strolling the Denerim marketplace only that morning? It felt like she had been in this new world for a long time now. She set about unbuckling the straps to her armor.

"What- what are you doing?" Alistair stammered. She turned around to look at him. He had turned away from her, and his ears were bright red under his long blond hair.

Illyria suppressed a giggle at his embarrassment. It had been a long time since she had seen this side of Alistair. "Well, I'm not about to sleep in this platemail."

"Yes, but… But shouldn't you be doing that somewhere else? In the tent, perhaps?"

"Don't be silly. I'm fully clothed underneath, you know."

His ears burned redder, if that was even possible. "Yes, but…"

She pulled her breastplate over her head and set it down next to her. "Besides," she said, taking off her greaves and boots, "I don't want to sleep in the tent. I hate feeling closed in when I'm under all this stone. At least if I can hear the water from the stream, and the crackling of the fire, I can pretend I'm outside."

"You're claustrophobic?"

"I guess. It's more that I have trouble sleeping. I grew up hearing the sounds of the forest as I slept, so sleeping this far beneath the surface is a little unsettling for me. It's too quiet." She pulled off her padded shirt, leaving her in a linen tunic and soft doeskin breeches. "There, all done. You can turn around now."

He turned around to face her, still blushing.

She lay down on top of the bedroll and settled in comfortably. She felt safe, knowing he was nearby. "Wake me up when you start feeling tired," she said to him. "Good night, Alistair."

"Good night, Illyria."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Updates for the first few chapters are coming quick (as I'm sure you've noticed) since I've written ahead and just double-checking as I go along. (Though, I do always miss a few things!) Later chapters won't be put up nearly so quickly. Thanks again for reading!

* * *

Illyria awoke to the smell of sizzling meat and potatoes. She stretched and looked up. Tamlen had been watching her, and he smiled as their eyes met. "Good morning, Tamlen," she greeted.

"Good morning, _lethallan_," he replied. "Sleep well?"

"Yes, I think so. Did you take second watch?"

He nodded. "I think Shem didn't want to wake you."

She frowned. "You really shouldn't keep calling him that."

"But that's what he is."

"Yes, but you wouldn't want someone going around calling you 'Elf' all the time, now would you?"

"I suppose you have a point," he said. "If it bothers you that much, I'll stop."

"Thank you."

He handed her a plate. "It's nug and potatoes again. Sorry."

She shook her head. "It's fine, Tamlen. Really."

Alistair emerged from the tent a moment later, rubbing his eyes. Tamlen handed him a plate as well, and they ate in silence.

As they started packing up the camp, Illyria wondered where they were headed next. "Are we going back to Orzammar now?"

Tamlen nodded. "I think we should. We're low on supplies. We killed two broodmothers before you joined us too, so I think we did pretty well for a few days' work." He cocked his head curiously at her. "What do you think we should do? You're the leader now."

"You make it sound so official," she said, smiling. "Orzammar is probably our best bet right now. Aside from gathering supplies, I'd like to hear about what's going on topside. The situation seems grim, but I won't know to what extent until I see it for myself."

"I warn you," Alistair said, shouldering his pack, "it's bad. Really bad."

Illyria nodded, her jaw set and determined. "I'd also like to see if any of the refugees are mages. If I can find out what spell the blood mage used on me, maybe I can figure out a way to get home."

"You'd leave us so soon, _lethallan_?" Tamlen asked in a quiet voice.

She shook her head. "No, not while you need my help. But I don't belong here, and I need to get back." She absently reached up to her neckline to touch the silverite ring hanging from the leather cord. "Let's move out. On the way, you two can fill me in on what's happened since Ostagar."

The journey would take them all morning and some of the afternoon, and they traveled at a steady pace. Tamlen did most of the talking, describing the decisions he had made that first year of the Blight.

"We were saved from Ostagar by a witch called Flemeth. As payment, we were to take her daughter Morrigan with us on our journey to stop the Blight. We stopped at Lothering as Morrigan suggested but only stayed long enough to hear the lies Teyrn Loghain had spread about us. There was a Chantry lay sister who insisted on coming, but she was human, and crazy on top of it. I wanted no part of it, so I left her behind."

"She was harmless, though," Alistair said. "I mean, she could fight, but she wasn't _that_ crazy. She might've been useful."

"I told you then, Sh- er, Alistair. We had enough to worry about without taking responsibility for some _shemlen_ lunatic spouting religious nonsense."

"What about Sten?" Illyria asked.

"Who?"

"The qunari in the cage."

Tamlen shrugged. "It wasn't any of my concern. He wanted to stay there, so he did."

"And Satsuma?"

Tamlen looked confused. "Who?" he said again.

"The mabari warhound from Ostagar."

"Oh. You know I don't like dogs, _lethallan_."

Illyria said nothing, silently mourning the would-be friends of this world who were lost to the Blight.

Tamlen continued. "After Lothering, we made our way to the Brecilian Forest to try and find Keeper Marethari's clan. She had long since taken our clan north, however, but we found another clan nearby. There were werewolves who terrorized the Dalish, and their human ancestors had murdered and violated Keeper Zathrian's family." Tamlen spat the last sentence in anger, outraged at the rape and murder of Zathrian's children. "I gladly helped him, and allowed him to kill the werewolves."

"But the werewolves weren't to blame for what happened to Zathrian's family," Alistair argued. "And he tortured them with that curse. He was hardly innocent in all of this."

"And that gave the werewolves the right to attack the Dalish and infest them with their sickness?" Tamlen retorted. "Anyway, what good does it do to chastise me about it now? It was over and done with a long time ago."

Illyria agreed with Alistair, but again said nothing. On her world, she forced Zathrian to release the werewolves from the curse. But it had given her no advantage in the Blight and nothing could be done about it now. As Tamlen said, it was done a long time ago.

"We went to the Circle Tower next," Tamlen went on, "but abominations and maleficarum had overtaken the Tower. We agreed to go in and assess the situation for the Templars in hopes of gaining some support against the Blight. We practically had to drag Morrigan along," he said with a slight chuckle. "We met Wynne along the way – a Senior Enchanter we knew from Ostagar. Together we rose up the Tower easily until they reached a Sloth Demon. It pulled us into the world of dreams. It took us three days to break free from the demon's thrall."

"Three days?" Illyria wondered. "What did you see in the Fade that held you there for so long?" She thought back to her own dream. The Sloth Demon must not have read her mind well, if it thought that a life of complacency in Weisshaupt would hold her. Peace was appealing, but she had a wanderer's spirit. No fortress could ever keep her happy for long.

"What did I see?" he repeated, blushing as he looked at her. "I… saw someone I loved, and she loved me in return. That's all you really need to know."

"Oh." Illyria shifted uncomfortably in her armor.

As Tamlen continued talking, Illyria glanced at Alistair, who hadn't spoken in some time. She knew what he had seen in the Fade. He had a sad, wistful look on his face, as if he wished he could go back and live there in the fantasy the demon had constructed for him. She suppressed the urge to run to him, to hug him and tell him that he didn't need a fake family to be happy. But she realized that perhaps that wasn't the case with this Alistair. After all, he had no surrogate family of trusted friends and comrades. Not in this world.

"By the time we awoke from the Fade," Tamlen was saying, "our bodies had weakened from days without nourishment or water. Wynne perished in the battle against Uldred's Pride Demon, and the rest of us had only survived by a sliver of luck. When we returned to the entrance hall of the Tower with the First Enchanter, the Rite of Annulment had already arrived from Denerim, and no amount of argument could convince the Knight Commander that the Tower was now safe. We had taken too long.

"However, the remaining templars gave us a pledge of support, so we left the Circle Tower and traveled southwest to Redcliffe. When we arrived, it was clear that the town was in disarray." Tamlen grimaced and cast a brief glare back at Alistair. "I wanted no part of helping the humans with their problems. It had nothing to do with us or our mission. But, Alistair insisted that we at least help the villagers live through the night. A number of villagers died, but the town as a whole survived with our help. When Lady Isolde took Bann Teagan into the castle, we went in through a secret entrance in the windmill to fight against the undead inside. We reached Lady Isolde, Teagan, and Connor in the main hall, and it was immediately clear that the child was possessed." He shook his head sadly. "There was a blood mage who suggested sacrificing the mother's life to save the child. But having just come from the Circle Tower and seeing the devastation there, I could not put my trust in the blood magic, nor could I allow the demon to continue to possess Connor freely." He sighed, a long regretful sound. "We killed the boy, to protect Redcliffe from further attacks."

Illyria looked at Alistair again. His face was clouded with sadness, but there was no anger in him at Tamlen's decision. She wondered if he was angry back then, just as her Alistair had been so very angry at her decision to let Lady Isolde sacrifice herself. She was resentful of Lady Isolde's treatment of Alistair in the past and of her idiocy that allowed a blood mage to poison Arl Eamon. And above all, Illyria could not bring herself to kill a child who bore no responsibility for his actions. But perhaps killing the boy in this world was a mercy. After all, without the Circle Tower to guide him, how would they prevent him from becoming possessed once more?

Tamlen took a deep breath and pressed on with their story. "Arl Eamon was still sick, however. And though I believed the Urn of Sacred Ashes to be a fairy tale, I… indulged Alistair's request that we go to Denerim to seek out a scholar, Brother Genitivi. On the way, we were ambushed by assassins, led by an Antivan Crow." Tamlen's face twisted in contempt. "He was an elf," he spat, "hired by Loghain. When the assassin was defeated, I did not even consider sparing his life. Any elf who consorted with a corrupt _shemlen_ like Loghain doesn't deserve to live."

Illyria didn't blame him. She had spared the Zevran of her world. He betrayed her in Denerim sometime later.

"We spoke to Brother Genitivi's assistant Wade, and we left Denerim to Lake Calenhad on his advice. There, we were ambushed by men wearing strange helmets. After the battle, we found no sign of Brother Genitivi." Tamlen sighed. "What a waste of time. It was either a trick or a wild goose chase to try to find the Urn. And even if it did exist, there's no guarantee that the Urn had the curative powers the legends said it did."

"I still think we should have tried harder," Alistair muttered. "We just gave up, and left the Arl to die. Maybe the Landsmeet would have turned out differently. Maybe…"

"And maybe we would have wandered all of Thedas looking for the damned thing," Tamlen replied irritably. "You fought with me about it back then, too. You may remember the Blight was coming? We didn't have time for that nonsense."

Illyria didn't tell them the Urn existed, nor did she mention that it did indeed cure all manner of illnesses. She couldn't think how the information could help them now.

"We traveled from the dock at Lake Calenhad through the Frostback Mountains to Orzammar. The _durgen'len_ city was divided between two factions warring for the throne – supporters of Prince Bhelen, and supporters of Lord Harrowmont. I tried to convince them of the urgency of the Blight, and even did a few tasks to try to prove our sincerity. But it soon became clear that each completed task led to another, more time-consuming one." Tamlen huffed in exasperation. "It seemed the more I tried to help, the more the two factions warred with each other. Finally, I'd had enough, and accepted Bhelen's word that he would send some troops our way. But because he was not yet king, he couldn't spare more than a few dozen men."

"Is Orzammar still without a king, then?" Illyria asked.

Tamlen shook his head. "Bhelen became king about a year and a half ago. There are rumors that he sent assassins to kill Harrowmont in his estate, but there's no proof." He shrugged. "I didn't think much of him when I first met him. He seemed corrupt and heartless. But he's allowed Fereldan refugees to come and go through Orzammar freely. They need written permission to go into the Diamond Quarter, but he otherwise allows them free reign of the city, so long as they don't cause trouble. I don't think Harrowmont would have allowed such an open door policy."

"That's probably true," Illyria said. After she had made Harrowmont king, he had almost completely cut off Orzammar from any outsiders.

Tamlen continued. "With Eamon incapacitated, Bann Teagan called the Landsmeet in Denerim as acting-arl of Redcliffe. There was much to be done before the Landsmeet even started, however. The queen had to be rescued from the arl of Denerim's estate, where we also found and released the Grey Warden Riordan." Tamlen gave a sheepish smile. "We were captured by Ser Cauthrien, but we escaped from Ford Drakon with our usual strength and clever trickery."

Illyria grinned. "Of course."

"But there was a disturbance in The Alienage," Tamlen said, the smile falling from his face. "The humans were selling the elves into slavery!" Talking about the slavers still made Tamlen grit his teeth in anger, and as he began to speak of the Landsmeet, he spat Loghain's name in disgust. "We were able to garner support from a few of the nobles in the city, but Loghain eventually won the vote and ordered for our arrest. An all-out brawl ensued, resulting in the deaths of most of the Royal Guard and a few members of the bannorn. The Revered Mother eventually put an end to the fighting, and she and the nobles suggested the conflict be settled with a duel.

"Alistair fought as champion in the duel. It seemed the two of them were almost equally matched, but Alistair had been quicker. He beheaded Loghain immediately upon defeating him," Tamlen said with a note of grim satisfaction. "But without the majority support of the bannorn, and with only Bann Teagan's endorsement of Alistair for king, Anora resumed her place as queen. She was happy enough to have the throne and Alistair's assurances that he would not raise a rebellion against her. So she pledged Denerim's forces to assist with the Blight. But the other nobles – particularly the ones who did not support the Wardens – refused to believe that the Blight was as big a threat as we claimed, and still believed Loghain's lies that we were the ones to blame for the deaths at Ostagar." Tamlen looked down at his hands. "Ferelden stood against the Blight, but it did not stand united.

"We made our way back to Redcliffe, believing that the archdemon would strike there next. But, the attack on Redcliffe was only a raid, and the true horde was making its attack on Denerim. While we were in Redcliffe, Riordan told us of the true purpose of the Grey Wardens." Tamlen glanced at Illyria. "Since the Blight is over in your world, I'm guessing you know about that?"

Illyria nodded. "About killing the archdemon? Yes, I know."

"Morrigan disappeared that night without a word," Tamlen went on. "We assumed that she deserted us in fear. Strange, though, as I never thought her to be a coward." He shrugged. "Anyway, we marched to Denerim in the morning.

"The fighting began the moment we arrived. We were easily outnumbered by the hundreds. Without mages to thin the darkspawn horde, every soldier counted, and we were short-handed from the beginning. Alistair and I made our way through the city to the towers of Fort Drakon to confront the archdemon." Tamlen sighed. "Riordan must have fallen along the way, because we did not see him again. Bann Teagan was the one who lead the contingent stationed at the gate, but Teagan was not a seasoned warrior, and the darkspawn flooded through into the city. While we were working up the floors of Fort Drakon to the roof, hurlocks, genlocks, and shrieks demolished the city in our wake.

"On the roof, Denerim soldiers and the Royal Guard were already in heavy combat." Tamlen's eyes looked distant, as if he were seeing the battle, and not the caverns of the Deep Roads. "The archdemon was wounded at the wing, and could not fly for long distances. But it swept the soldiers with wicked purple flames. The templars and Dalish archers joined us on the roof as well, and for a while it looked as if we might be able to hold back the darkspawn long enough to slay the dragon." He shook his head sadly. "But the horde had caught up to us, and poured through the tower doors until we were completely overwhelmed. Zathrian and Knight Commander Greagoir called the retreat." He looked back at Alistair, his lips drawn in a thin line. "He refused to go. He crashed his way through the darkspawn in a foolish – and futile – attempt to reach the archdemon."

"Foolish?" Alistair repeated in a quiet voice. "If I'd made it, the Blight would be over by now."

"You would have died before you got there." It was a statement of fact. There was no accusation in Tamlen's voice. Only sadness and regret. He turned back to Illyria. "I grabbed his arm and screamed at him to leave, but he pulled away. He was determined to prove it could be ended then and there. I knocked him out with a blow to the back of the head, and allowed Zathrian to take us away from Fort Drakon with his magic.

"That was the end of Denerim, and the end of Ferelden as we knew it. Only a few dozen soldiers survived the battle. Queen Anora was never found."

Tamlen ended their story, and they walked for a long while before anyone spoke. Both men had grim expressions on their faces, reliving the battle in their minds' eyes. Illyria wasn't sure what to say, or if words could possibly do anything to give comfort to this level of grief and guilt.

"What happened in the two years after that?" Illyria asked finally. They had stopped for a late lunch about an hour away from Orzammar.

Tamlen sighed. "The darkspawn gradually swarmed over the rest of Ferelden. Anyone who had once had a considerable army at their disposal had been wiped out in Denerim, so the bannorn's remaining forces couldn't defend against the horde. We couldn't gather another army, because there wasn't one in all of Ferelden."

"What happened to the Orlesian Wardens? I thought they were coming to help."

Alistair snorted. "The first and last message I got from the Orlesian Wardens was that Ferelden was a lost cause," he said bitterly. "All the Wardens from the other nations are staying put in case the Blight goes after them next."

Illyria frowned. "But what about all the people still here in Ferelden?"

"That's what I asked them. I haven't gotten a message back. That was over a year ago."

"Where's the Blight headed now?"

"Last we heard," Tamlen said, "it was heading north. The darkspawn must have Deep Roads up there too to get past the Waking Sea. I doubt they have seafaring capabilities."

"But from the dreams we've been having, we think the archdemon is still here in Ferelden," Alistair added. "Maybe it just sent the horde ahead of it."

Illyria looked around, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of fried nug. "The Deep Roads are awfully quiet."

Tamlen nodded. "That's because most of the darkspawn are on the surface now, or on their way to the Free Marches. Actually, with so many refugees in Orzammar, some of the people who can fight have moved into the abandoned thaigs nearby. They run across some stray genlocks and deepstalkers, but very few complaints on the whole. We stay in Aeducan Thaig sometimes."

"Do you stay in Orzammar often?"

"About half the time," Tamlen replied, getting to his feet. "There are people to defend here, so we either hunt darkspawn in the Deep Roads or keep them away from the entrance to Orzammar. The other half of the time we go east past the mountains to beat back raids and look for more refugees."

Illyria got to her feet as well and brushed the dust from her hands. "Well, let's see these refugees. Maybe they have some information we can use."

As they approached the city, Illyria hung back to walk alongside Alistair. "You all right?" she asked him. "You didn't eat much."

He shrugged. "Not hungry, I guess."

"You should try to keep your strength up," she said, worrying over him.

"I know," he muttered.

"I'm sorry to be bringing up all these bad memories, _emma_- Alistair." She blushed as she corrected herself, but Alistair didn't seem to notice.

"It's fine. If you're going to help us, you need to know what's happened. It's just…" He sighed heavily. "It's just that there's been so much death."

"I know." She touched his elbow gently, and he looked down at her with sad eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you," he murmured. And they continued on in silence.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Thanks again for reading and reviewing! And if you haven't reviewed yet, I'd love to hear from you!

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As they drew closer to the entrance to Orzammar, they began to see people wandering the Deep Roads. It was strange to see humans and elves intermingled amongst the dwarves, carrying packs on their way to the nearby thaigs. She expected darkspawn in the Deep Roads, not travelers, and she flinched at each movement she saw out of the corner of her eye, ready to attack.

The Orzammar Commons was packed to bursting with people. Some sat in clusters in the street, looking lost and afraid, while others haggled with shop owners. The swarm of people made the Commons look small, despite how massive the place really was.

"Let's split up," Illyria called over the din of the crowd. "Get what supplies you need, and we'll meet by Tapsters in an hour. And ask about Morrigan while you're going around the crowd."

"Morrigan?" Alistair repeated incredulously. "Why?"

"I'll explain later, but we'll need her."

The three of them left in separate directions. Illyria weaved through the crowd until she reached the doors to the Hall of Heroes. The Hall was packed with people too. Where once there were only one or two dwarven beggars, there were now destitute people of all races crowding either side of the hall. Illyria tensed as she walked by, feeling deep pity for each of them as they called out to her with their individual woes.

The guards at the door to the Frostbacks stopped her. "I see you are well-armed, outsider," the guard with the bushiest beard said gruffly. "But we're instructed to inform everyone who leaves that they are responsible for their own safety on the surface. Understand?"

Illyria smiled. "Yes, I understand. I'll be careful."

She stepped out into the biting cold wind and gasped. Even from the gate to Orzammar, she could see the blackness of the Blighted earth began just beyond the treeline below and extended out past the horizon. It was as if the world ceased to exist past those trees, and was met with nothingness.

Strangely, the clearing just outside of Orzammar was much the same as it always was. Traveling merchants and surface dwarves set up their shops there, hawking their wares to passersby. However, the merchants here each had three or four heavily armed guards with them. Illyria approached a trader's shop with guards dressed in chevalier armor.

"Welcome!" the merchant greeted in a heavy Orlesian accent. "I have the finest provisions from the rich Orlesian countryside. You won't find better anywhere!"

Illyria was thankful that she had spent so much time with Leliana. The Orlesian accent was difficult to understand. She weighed her coin purse with one hand, trying to judge how much it contained. She might not have been able to afford a room at the Gnawed Noble yesterday, but she hoped she had enough for some proper food. "Let me see what you have."

He laid out several baskets of produce and bread, bottles of milk and wine, and random other foodstuffs.

"Is that real halla's milk?" she asked, pointing.

"Yes!" The merchant exclaimed, showing her the small bottle. "From a Dalish clan I met on my way east!"

"Are there many Dalish in Orlais?" She lifted the cork and smelled the milk carefully.

He shrugged. "It's hard to say, really. The Dales, of course, are just over the mountains, but no one really lives there now. But you must know that, being Dalish. We have not so many as you used to have here in Ferelden, I think. But some of your clans might have come west after the Blight struck."

"What are the Wardens in Orlais doing then?" she asked conversationally as she perused the selection of fruit.

"Not that I know much about Warden business, miss," the merchant began, "but it does seem that they are recruiting and preparing for war. I've heard stories of Grey Wardens asking for promising fighters in the provinces." He paused, remembering she was shopping. "Find anything you like?"

"These apples look good," she said, pointing. "Grey Warden recruits, you say? That's exciting. Do you think they'll come this way to help out?"

He shook his head. "They've been setting up along the borders. In case the Blight comes west, yes?"

"Yes, of course. That makes sense." She looked around at the other items in the merchant's stand and something caught her eye. She immediately thought of Alistair and smiled. "Is that cheese?"

"Why, yes!" the merchant exclaimed. "It's quite good too. I've always said that Ferelden has good milk, but cheese… the cheese is best from Orlais, no?"

Illyria chuckled. "I haven't had any Orlesian cheese, so I can't say."

"Oh! Then you must try some!"

She looked over the selection. "Say, you must do a lot of traveling, being a merchant and all."

"Of course, miss."

"I've been wondering about a friend of mine," she said, picking up a wedge of cheese and examining it. "A human. Dark-haired, pale skin." She giggled, a silly laugh she hated to hear from herself. "Oh, people often say she looks like a witch, but she's harmless, really. She also tends not to wear very much. A little shameless if you ask me, but she does have a fine figure. I don't suppose you've seen her, have you?"

"A dark-haired woman who looks like a witch, you say?"

She nodded. "Last I heard, she was headed west, but with the Blight, I worry that she might not have gotten out safely."

The merchant thought for a moment. "You know, now that you mention it, I remember hearing about a woman of that description. I think they said she was at court in Val Royeaux and demanded to speak to Empress Celene. Must have caused quite a stir, else I would not have heard about it, being from Montsimmard myself. This was a long time ago, though."

Illyria giggled again, feeling sick at herself at the sound. "That sounds like my friend, all right. She's not much for decorum." She handed the merchant the wedge of cheese she selected. "How much for all this?"

The merchant gave her the total and she frowned. She was short some silvers. She reached down to her belt and pulled out the Dalish leather gloves she kept there. A long time ago, she had meant to give them to Zevran as a gift, but he betrayed her before she had the chance to give them to him. Since then, she kept them as a reminder of her heritage, and to be careful of who to trust. But she never wore them anymore. "Will you accept these in partial trade?"

The merchant gladly took the gloves to pay for the rest of her purchase and bundled up the goods in a thin cotton bag. Illyria thanked him, and roamed the other booths. She asked around about Morrigan and the Blight. She heard about the few remaining farms in Ferelden being attacked nearby. They told her about attempts to grow food in the Blighted earth, and how the seeds simply refused to sprout. They asked her about missing loved ones and friends. She re-entered Orzammar, feeling both solemn and resolute.

When she reached Tapsters, she found Alistair already there waiting for her. "_Aneth ara_, Alistair," she greeted.

"Uh, hi," he greeted awkwardly.

"Where's Tamlen?"

He pointed across the Commons. "He's buying arrows and a new bowstring. It might take him a while. He's very… particular."

Illyria chuckled. "He is at that."

Alistair eyed the cotton bag. "What do you have there?"

She grinned. "I thought you two could use some cheering up."

"Oh?" he said, his interest piqued.

She reached into the bag and held her hand out to him. "Here."

He smiled. "Apples!"

"That's not all," she said. She reached back into the bag and pulled out the paper-wrapped cheese. "I have a present for you."

"A present?"

She nodded. "Here, open it."

"It's wrapped and everything…" he murmured as he tore apart the paper. With the parcel lying open on his lap, he stared at its contents. "Cheese…"

Illyria smiled. "It's your favorite, right? That's the right kind?"

He examined it carefully, almost reverently. "It is. How did you know?"

"It's my Alistair's favorite too."

He looked up at her, eyes shining. "I don't know what to say. Thank you. I've… never gotten anything like this from someone before."

She felt her cheeks get warm. "It's just cheese. It's okay."

He shook his head. "It's not just cheese. Thank you." He smiled up at her. "Would you share it with me?"

"I couldn't do that! It's yours."

He beckoned her to sit on the steps next to him. "Please? Food is better when it's shared with friends."

She sat next to him and huffed teasingly. "If you insist…" she said, smiling.

Alistair cut her a slice then one for himself. He bit into his slice and chewed slowly, savoring the flavor. "Oh, I haven't had this in a really long time."

Illyria bit into hers as well. It was crumbly and salty and smoky in flavor. She had to admit that the merchant might have been right about Orlesian cheese. She tried to eat slower than Alistair so he could eat more of it. She took an apple out of her bag and bit into it too. "Try it with this. It's good."

She watched Alistair take a bite of the cheese, then a bite of the apple. His face relaxed into a blissful expression and she grinned. "It _is_ good!" he exclaimed.

"I'm glad you like it."

He looked at her curiously. "We must be very good friends in your world. You have a nickname for me… you buy me cheese…"

She laughed and shoved him lightly on the arm. "Stop reading so much into things. It's just cheese."

He smiled and handed her another slice. They ate pleasurably in silence for a moment. "You said you were in Denerim when you left your world, right?" he spoke up around a mouthful of cheese and apple.

"Yes, that's right."

He stared out at the Commons without really seeing. "I wanted to look up someone there, but never got the chance to. I was curious whether the other Alistair ever got to meet her."

Illyria sighed sadly. "Goldanna?"

Alistair turned to look at her in surprise. "You know my sister?"

"I've met her, yes."

"Really?" he said excitedly. "What was she like?"

She paused, thinking how best to answer. "She's had a hard life. And sometimes, when people have had a lot of hardship, they're angry at the world because of it."

Alistair frowned. "So she's an angry person?"

"A little," Illyria said. "It's difficult, because that's how she's had to be to survive. And even though you're family, you're also strangers. Trust has to be built. Old grudges have to be set aside. And sometimes that takes a long time."

He gave a sad smile. "I think that's just a nice way of saying she doesn't like me."

"Maybe, but that's why she doesn't, and it's important you know why." She reached out and squeezed his hand affectionately. "I don't want you thinking there's something wrong with you, _emma lath_, because there isn't. She's angry at the world, and that just happens to include you."

He looked down at her tiny hand enclosed over his. He blushed. "I… I think I understand."

"What are you two up to?"

Illyria looked up and saw Tamlen standing nearby, a bundle of arrows under his arm. She withdrew her hand quickly.

"She, uh, bought me cheese," Alistair responded, holding up what was left of the wedge.

She reached into her bag and took out the small bottle. "I got something for you too."

Tamlen took the bottle from her and smiled. "Halla's milk. I haven't had this since I left our clan. Thank you."

"Sure," she said, smiling. "I thought it'd be a welcome change from nug soup."

He took a long sip of the milk and sat down next to them. "So, what do we do now, fearless leader?"

Illyria cast him an amused look. "Well, from what I heard, Morrigan headed to Val Royeaux after she left the two of you. She went that way after we parted ways on my world too, so it makes sense."

"Why exactly do we need her again?" Alistair asked with a pained expression.

"She's necessary for us to defeat the Blight without any of us dying," she replied.

"You mean with killing the archdemon? How does she do that?"

"It's… difficult to explain," she said slowly. "But she's the reason I'm still here after I killed my world's archdemon in the Battle of Denerim."

Alistair frowned. "I'd wondered about that."

"Besides, she may know something about this spell that brought me here, and how I might eventually go home."

"So we're going to Orlais?" Tamlen said, sounding disapproving. "We're just leaving Ferelden behind?"

Illyria shook her head. "We're not leaving Ferelden behind. We're getting help. There's little we can do here without further assistance. We can demand aid from the Orlesian Wardens, request that Empress Celene honor her original arrangement with King Cailan, and seek out additional help from the mages and Dalish in Orlais."

Alistair blinked at her. "What arrangement with Cailan?"

"Oh, you didn't go back to Ostagar?" Illyria nibbled around her apple core thoughtfully. "I wonder if we'll need to go get the documents, then… Perhaps not. Anyway, I found correspondence between Empress Celene and King Cailan promising Wardens and chevaliers to assist in the Blight. Perhaps Loghain put a stop to it before she went forward with sending the men. Or maybe Cailan's death changed matters. But for whatever reason, she hasn't held to her promise."

"So, presuming we get support from the Orlesians, what then?" Alistair asked.

"The archdemon is still in Ferelden. It took the Blight a year to get from Ostagar to Denerim. Another 2 years to cover the rest of the country. The Blight is terrible and devastating, but it moves slowly. We have some time. If we can get to the archdemon while most of the horde is still en route up through the Free Marches, we might be able to end the Blight while the archdemon is lacking a full army to defend itself." She looked at each of them in turn. "Does that sound good, then? We head for the Orlesian capitol?"

"Sounds good to me," Alistair said, looking hopeful.

Tamlen nodded his agreement, but sighed. "We'll need more supplies than we have, _lethallan_," he said. "It's a long way to Val Royeaux."


	6. Chapter 6

For the next few days, the three of them did odd jobs around the city for money, chasing down nugs or bartending at Tapsters as needed by the local shop owners. Illyria found fighting at that week's Proving to be particularly profitable, as throngs of dwarves, humans, and elves were starved for entertainment in the overcrowded city. Hoping to recruit another trusted friend to their cause, she asked around Tapsters about Oghren. But he had long since gone alone into the Deep Roads in search of his wife Branka. He had yet to return.

After their third full day in the city, the trio were able to buy another two tents, a bedroll and pack for Illyria, health poultices, and additional provisions. They had some money left over, and their hope was that ships still sailed out of Jader to the north, as the Blight had not fully reached the far northwest corner of Ferelden. Otherwise, the trip by land around the Waking Sea to Val Royeaux would take over two months.

The journey to Jader was difficult. Even without the threat of darkspawn looming over every ridge, the rocky terrain and high elevation made travel slow and tiring. Alistair stumbled often, lacking the surefootedness his Dalish companions had learned growing up in the wilderness. And then the darkspawn did attack, again and again, during any hour of the day or night. They took to wearing light leather armor as they slept, so they would at least have some protection when they were attacked in the middle of the night. Each night found them tumbling to their bedrolls in quiet exhaustion, but even then, sleep was often elusive, as every small sound in the night woke them in anticipation of another darkspawn attack.

Hunting, at least, proved fruitful, as the animals in the area had not yet been touched by the darkspawn taint. When they were two days away from Jader, they made their camp in a small clearing at the base of a rocky hill, and Illyria caught three rabbits for dinner. They sat in silence as they ate, as they usually did, too weary from the day's efforts to attempt conversation. It was Alistair's turn at first watch, and he settled in beside the fire, watching the flames dance.

Illyria emerged from her tent a few hours later and sat down at the campfire. She had her blanket around her, and pulled it tighter to protect against the breeze.

"Trouble sleeping?" Alistair asked softly.

She nodded wordlessly and proceeded to set some water to boil for tea. They sat together in a comfortable silence.

Illyria poured herself a cup of the hot water and sprinkled in herbs from a pouch at her waist. "You can go to sleep if you want," she said, warming her hands around the hot cup. "I'm not sure if I'll be going back to bed anytime soon, and Tamlen should be up in about an hour."

Alistair smiled. "I'll be fine. Besides, you're still half-asleep. You'd pour the darkspawn some tea before you even realized what was happening."

The corners of her mouth curled upward as she sipped from the cup. "What if it's magic tea and killed them all in an instant?"

Alistair chuckled. "Ah, if only."

Silence fell upon them again. As Illyria finished her tea, she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. Alarmed at first, she turned to look, but immediately relaxed when she saw what it was. "Are you shivering?"

Alistair shrugged. "Maybe a little. It is winter, after all."

Illyria made a tutting noise, went to Alistair's tent, and retrieved his blanket. "You'll get sick if you're not careful," she said. She walked over to him and draped the blanket over his shoulders. "You're not allowed to get sick, all right?"

Alistair raised an eyebrow in an amused expression. "Yes, ma'am."

But it was clear after a few moments that the blanket did little to warm him, and he still trembled as he pulled it tighter around him.

"I thought women were the ones who got cold easily," she teased him.

"Are you calling me a woman?" he said, feigning outrage.

"I'm not calling you a man," she replied with a smile.

Alistair laughed. "Ouch! You wound me, my lady!"

"Here, this should help." Illyria took her blanket and draped half of it over his left shoulder. She plopped herself down beside him and drew herself close, covering herself with the other half of the blanket.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm feeling warmer already."

She looked up at him and grinned at the slow blush she knew she would find there. "I'm not crowding you, am I?"

He shook his head. "No… well, sort of. But, it's, um… nice. Nice crowding."

As they sat and stared at the fire, she found herself feeling strangely at home, yet homesick at the same time. The closeness felt familiar and right. She forced herself to remember that the man next to her was not her husband, and she clutched her wedding ring to hold on to that knowledge. It had been nearly 2 weeks since she saw her Alistair last, and she missed him dearly.

"What do you think about when you're on watch?" she asked in a near whisper.

Alistair sighed. "Lots of things. People mostly. Duncan, Eamon, Teagan, Connor."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I think it might just make me angry. Or sad. Probably both. And I'm too tired to be either."

"You should go get some sleep," she urged gently. "I'm more awake now. I promise not to serve the darkspawn tea."

He smiled. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely, go on."

Alistair got up and draped the other half of her blanket over her. He paused before going to his tent. "Illyria?"

"Hmm?"

"Why are you always worrying over me?"

She smiled up at him. "It's my job, silly. And you're my friend. Now, go to sleep, _emma lath_."

He nodded, his eyes twinkling in the firelight. "Good night." And he disappeared into his tent.

Tamlen emerged from his tent a moment later and sat next to Illyria. As he gathered together his bow and arrows, his movements clashed loudly against the tin cups in his pack.

"Tamlen?" Illyria looked at her friend in puzzlement. "Is something wrong?"

His eyes were harsh when he turned them toward her. "Wrong? I heard the two of you, _lethallan_."

"So?" she challenged. "Why is that making you angry?"

"You've been flirting with him," he hissed.

"I… I have not."

"I know what your flirting looks like," he whispered angrily. "And you've been throwing yourself at him since the moment we found you."

Illyria sighed. "It's not flirting, really. It's… remembering."

His brow furrowed. "Whatever you call it, I know what I heard. You called him '_emma lath_'. He may not know what it means, but I do."

She cursed herself in the back of her mind for her absentmindedness around Alistair. It had slipped out again without her realizing it.

"Is this some sort of infatuation you have with him? Or with the other Alistair?" he pressed on.

She gave him a scathing look. "Infatuation? Don't be condescending."

"What, then? What is he to you?"

She hesitated. "Why do you care so much?"

"Because you're not telling me!" he said, his voice anguished. "You've never kept anything from me before, but I see the way you look at him."

Illyria looked him in the eye. "You can't tell him, okay? Promise me you won't tell him."

"Why would I tell?" She glared at him, and he held up his hands. "Yes, okay, I promise. Now, tell me the truth."

She unclasped the leather cord from around her neck and took the silverite ring from it. She showed it to Tamlen. "On my world, he's my husband."

He took the ring and stared at it. "You're married… to a _shemlen_?" he cried in disbelief.

"Quiet!" she hissed, glancing at Alistair's tent. "Keep your voice down!"

"You _married_ one of them?" His voice was lower, but not by much.

"Is that so terrible?" she said indignantly.

"Yes, _lethallan_, of course it is! They murdered our parents!"

She let out an exasperated breath. "_He_ wasn't one of them. _He_ didn't murder our parents."

"It doesn't matter! They're all the same in the end!" he exclaimed.

"You've been traveling with him for this long and you still think that about him?" she asked sadly. "He's a good man."

"But a human all the same," he spat in disgust. "Did you find me so repulsive that you ran to the first _shemlen_ you came across?"

"Now you're being insulting. To all of us, including yourself."

"That's because I _am_ insulted. I can't believe you would be capable of this. You disgust me." As he spoke the last sentence, he threw her ring into the woods.

Immediately, Illyria grabbed a piece of wood from the fire to act as a torch and ran after the ring, searching the ground where she thought it landed. The thick grass and darkness made it difficult for her to see beyond the upper layer of growth, and she pushed the branches and leaves this way and that to try to see around them.

She had been looking for some time when she heard hesitant footsteps come up from behind her.

"I'm sorry, _lethallan_."

She did not pause in her search to look at him. "Don't be sorry. Be looking. Then you can be sorry."

They searched the area where he had thrown it, looking for hours for the tiny, delicate ring. Alistair woke before they had located it, and watched them curiously while he began making breakfast. It was nearly time when they usually packed up to leave when Tamlen finally reached into an outcropping of prickly grass and pulled out the ring. Illyria snatched it from him and seriously considered slapping him, but instead turned back to the campfire without a word.

"Illyria," Tamlen called after her, "I'm sorry."

Alistair frowned, offering her a plate of overcooked quail eggs and potatoes. "Everything all right?"

"Fine," she replied tersely, taking the plate from him. He watched her as she threaded the ring back onto the leather cord and replaced it at her neck.

Tamlen came back to the camp a moment later and silently accepted a plate from Alistair. The templar looked from one sullen elf to the other and sighed. "Oh, this should be a load of laughs," he muttered.

The next two days went by with few words passed between the companions. Traveling was easier now, as the rocky hills had flattened to rolling grasslands. The darkspawn attacks were fewer as well, and the Wardens were able to relax a little from their state of constant awareness. It was with much relief that they finally entered the coastal town of Jader.

Armed men stood at the gate and lined the town walls, but they only gave a short nod to the Wardens as they entered. It was late afternoon, but few people walked the streets, and those who were out hurried to reach their destinations. Merchants packed up their shops early, not wanting to be caught outside at twilight. The town was eerily quiet, as if the walls themselves were afraid any small sound would attract the darkspawn horde.

"You think we could get rooms at the inn?" Alistair asked hopefully. "I could really use a bed right about now."

Illyria gave a tired smile. "We'll book passage with a ship for tomorrow first. We might have enough for the inn afterward."

There were few ships at the docks now. One of the remaining captains informed them that the larger ships had left the port altogether for fear of the Blight, and had gone on to Antiva or Rivain. The smaller ships could not handle the storms of the Amaranthine Ocean, and did their best to stay on the west side of the Waking Sea, but could only go short distances. He would take them as far as Val Chevin.

Passage on the ship was inexpensive, as few travelers and even fewer merchants went through Jader now. The same was true of the inn, and Alistair was nearly giddy at the prospect of sleeping indoors. They ordered big bowls of fish stew in the tavern, and though it was little better than Alistair's lamb stew, the food was filling and warm. Bellies full, they stumbled up to their rooms, eager for sleep.

Illyria dropped her pack by the side of the bed, and immediately set about the tedious task of taking off her armor. She stretched and flexed, enjoying the lightness that came with shedding all that metal. She began a fire in the hearth and sat beside it, waiting for the room to warm up.

A knock came at the door then. She opened it and found Alistair waiting there. He had taken off his armor as well, and was dressed in a blue tunic and leather trousers. Illyria always thought he looked resplendent in his armor, but found she liked him best during those rare times when he wore normal clothes – when he was no longer a warrior, but just Alistair.

"I'm sorry to bother you," he said. "Is this a bad time?"

Illyria shook her head and stepped aside to let him in. "No, just waiting for the room to get warm. Is something wrong?"

"No, I… uh, was actually wondering if you were all right," he said awkwardly.

"Me?" she said in surprise. "I'm fine, Alistair."

"I was just worried, because you and Tamlen had that fight, so…" He trailed off.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I hope we didn't wake you," she apologized.

"Not at all. I was surprised to see the two of you up and looking for… whatever it was. A ring?"

She went to the window and gazed at the stars shining over the darkened town. "Thank you for worrying, Alistair, but we'll be fine. You don't get to be friends for as long as Tamlen and I have been without a fair share of squabbles."

Alistair breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad. That you two will be fine, I mean. The two of you seem really close. It'd be a shame to lose a relationship like that."

She nodded. "We've been through a lot together. He's like a brother to me."

"A brother?" he repeated curiously. "I was under the impression it was something… different."

Illyria gave a small smile. "No, it's not like that between him and me."

"Oh, I see." He appeared strangely pleased.

"Are you okay?" she asked, noticing he did not seem eager to leave.

"Me?" it was his turn to say. "Sure, why wouldn't I be?"

"You just seemed like you had something on your mind."

Alistair paced, searching for words. "I… well, you asked that night whether I wanted to talk about Duncan and the others… and I wasn't sure how to tell you I'm ready now." He paused to look up at her, then began pacing again. "Nobody's asked before… but I'm sure I'm bothering you. You probably want to go to bed. I'll just…" He turned for the door.

Illyria crossed the room in a few quick strides. She placed her hand on his shoulder to stop him. "It's fine, Alistair. You're not bothering me," she said reassuringly. "Come, sit. I don't mind staying up to talk for a while."

She took him by the hand and led him to a desk chair beside the bed. "You can start with Duncan. Tell me about Duncan." She sat cross-legged atop the bed and smiled at him encouragingly.

So Alistair talked and Illyria listened. She had heard most of it before, of course, but listened as if hearing it for the first time. He told her about how Duncan would check on him from time to time during his templar training, and how Duncan saved him from his eventual misery at the Chantry by conscripting him. He talked about Eamon and how, even though he was forced to sleep in the stables as a child, Eamon would look in on him each night to make sure he was comfortable and warm. He laughed about the last time he saw Teagan before being sent to the Chantry for templar training as a child. Teagan and Alistair had been tossing a ball around outside after the heavy rains, and came back inside covered in mud. Together, they ran through the halls of Redcliffe Castle, tracking mud into every corridor, making Lady Isolde furious. And he spoke solemnly about Connor – how the first time he saw him, the boy was just a small baby in Eamon's arms. The second time he saw Connor, he was possessed by a demon. Alistair had always thought of Connor as what he might have been in different circumstances, with a proud father and a doting mother.

"It's such a _waste_," he said with an anguished look on his face. "All of it, a waste of potential, of life. I try to understand why the Maker took them like this, but it doesn't make sense."

"Death never makes sense, Alistair," Illyria said sadly.

"Well, it should," he muttered. "It should make sense. Death should have a purpose. Otherwise, what was the point?"

"What's important is how you remember them. How they touched your life and the lives of others." She reached out and put a hand on his arm. "And now you've told me. And now I'll remember them too."

"Thank you, Illyria," he said softly. "Thank you so much for listening to me."

She gave him a small smile. "You can come to me anytime. You don't have to carry your burdens alone."

His own smile was small and tinged with sadness. "It means a lot to me. Truly." He got up and turned towards the door. "Sleep well, Illyria."

"Good night, _emma lath_."

Alistair stopped in the doorway and looked at her with fondness. "One day, you'll tell me what that means." And he left, closing the door behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Thank you once again for the lovely reviews, and to all of those who added this story to your alerts and favorites! Much appreciated!

* * *

The three Wardens woke early the next morning and left the inn after breakfast. The sun was late in rising, with only faint slivers of light peeking over the horizon. Illyria took a deep breath of the crisp, salty air, feeling the tingle of excitement that came with traveling to a new place. She found herself missing Alistair again – her Alistair. This was just the sort of morning where he would roll over in their bedroll and draw her close, whispering in her ear that it was too cold to wake up just yet. Her hand went up to the ring at her neck and prayed to the gods she would find Morrigan, and then find her way home.

The ship set sail soon after they boarded. The voyage to Val Chevin would take 4 days. Illyria and the others took their packs into the cabins, each tiny room consisting only of a small bed and a trunk bolted to the floor to hold their belongings. They shed their heavy armor, as they did not need it at sea, and would surely drown if they fell overboard while wearing it. Illyria clasped a heavy woolen cloak over her shoulders and stepped out onto the deck.

Not long after they left the dock, it became apparent that none of them had ever been sailing before. Nausea hit each of them in waves, and it was all Illyria could do not to throw up her breakfast. She tried to imagine that the ship was an _aravel_ moving through the forest, but the constant swaying and bouncing against the sea was nothing like the smooth shudder of the Dalish landship. She closed her eyes, focusing on breathing deeply through her nose and out through her mouth. It helped a little. At least now she was only sick to her stomach, and not about to vomit over the rail.

She felt the presence of someone coming up behind her and opened her eyes. Tamlen was holding a steaming mug of something out to her.

"Here, drink this," he said.

She took a tentative sip. The spicy liquid tasted familiar. "What is it?"

He rummaged in his herb pouch at his belt and pulled out a twisted-looking root.

"Ginger?"

He nodded. "I remembered that Ashalle used to make a tea out of it when the pregnant clanswomen had morning sickness."

Illyria smiled. "Come across many pregnant women in your travels?"

"She also used to give it to us when we had colds. That's why I have it."

"I know, I'm just teasing," she said, sipping the tea again. "Thank you."

"Sure. I already feel better, so it must do something." He came up and rested his elbows against the rail.

"Did you give some to Alistair?"

He shook his head and smirked. "Not yet. I rather like watching him suffer a bit."

"Oh, Tamlen, that's awful," she chided gently, but the smile didn't fade from her face.

He handed her the root. "I have another one in my pack, so you can make him some tea with this one, if you want. He went below decks to lie down."

"Thanks."

They stood together in awkward silence, trying to avoid looking at the swaying horizon.

"_Lethallan_," Tamlen said finally, "I'm really sorry about before. For all of it – what I said, what I did…"

"I know." She smiled again and placed a hand on his arm. They had found the ring, and she never could stay mad at him for long. "It's fine now."

He looked out at the water and sighed. "You love him?"

"Yes," she replied softly. "It's why I married him."

"He's an idiot, though. You know that, right?" Tamlen grinned at her.

"He's not an idiot… most of the time, anyway," she said with a light laugh. "But when he is, he's my idiot." She was reminded of a conversation she had with Morrigan a long time ago.

Tamlen groaned mockingly. "You're making me sick."

"I could make you more ginger tea if you'd like," she said, waving the root at him.

He chuckled. "If you keep up the sappiness, I might take you up on it."

Silence fell over them again. Illyria finished her tea. Though her stomach still felt uneasy, she found it was no longer churning, and she could actually look out at the sea. It was beautiful, with the pale winter sunlight glistening on the waves.

"_Lethallan_?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you," Tamlen said, looking at her seriously. "Always have."

"I know."

"He makes you happy?"

She nodded. "He does."

"Then," he said with a sigh, "if you're happy, that's all that matters to me."

She pulled him into a tight embrace. "Thank you, _lethallin_. That means a lot to me."

"But I'll cut his throat if he ever hurts you," Tamlen said into her hair.

Illyria laughed. "Good to know."

* * *

Illyria knocked on Alistair's cabin door, holding another steaming mug. A grunt came from the other side, and she took that as an invitation to enter. When she opened the door, she smelled the distinct stench of bile in the air. She coughed and, breathing through her mouth, entered the room.

Alistair lay in bed, curled up in his blankets. A chamberpot full of his sick sat beside the bed. She sighed and sat awkwardly on the trunk.

"You look terrible," she said with a somewhat amused smile.

"Let's never do this again," he moaned. "If ever I get it into my head that sailing is a good idea, smack me, would you? I'd rather be back at the Battle of Denerim."

"Here, sit up," she said, pulling him by the shoulder with one hand. "This will make you feel better."

"Really?" he said hopefully, sitting up. She handed him the mug, and he stared at the thin slices of root floating in the spicy brew. "What is it?"

"Ginger tea. Tamlen made some for me, and I'm doing much better."

"Yeah, look at you. Upright and everything." Alistair took a few careful sips of the hot liquid.

Illyria reached down for the chamberpot. "Let me clean this out for you."

His hand darted down to hers with surprising speed. "No, don't. You shouldn't have to do that," he said quickly. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I'll do it when I'm feeling a bit better."

"Don't be silly," she said, shaking off his hand and picking up the pot. "You'll just make yourself feel worse smelling this. Wait here and drink your tea." Her voice was gentle but firm.

She took the chamberpot up to the deck and dumped its contents into the sea. Then she pumped water from a nearby spigot and rinsed it out.

"Must be nice to have a pretty elf like her serving you hand and foot," she overheard one of the sailors say.

Illyria reached for a knife from her belt and turned it in her hand so it glinted in the setting sun. "Say something like that again, and you'll find this in your belly, _shemlen_," she said in an even but threatening tone. "I am no servant." She did not wait for a response and went back down to the lower decks.

It was a common misconception, one that Illyria hated. Traveling with Alistair in her own world, she was often recognized as the Hero of Ferelden, even 2 years after the Blight. But there were just as many times when she was not recognized, and the sight of an elf traveling with a human, being kind and helpful to him, brought out old prejudices in the people they encountered. Never mind the tattoos that marked her as Dalish or if she wore platemail. She must be a servant. Illyria recalled how Goldanna had jumped to the same conclusion when they first met. An elf to carry his things, indeed. She returned to Alistair's cabin cursing in Elvish under her breath.

Alistair looked up at her from his mug. "What's the matter?"

"Some of the sailors mistook me as your servant," she muttered. "It happens sometimes. It's nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about?" he repeated. "You're obviously upset about it! It's not right! You should have let me take care of it, Illyria."

She shook her head. "I won't let what people think of me stop me from doing what I want to do." She set the chamberpot on the floor beside him. "You look a little less green. Are you feeling any better?"

He clutched his stomach. "I don't know. I don't think I'll throw up again soon, but that may be because I don't have anything left in there."

Illyria took the empty mug from him. "Go on and lie down. I'll bring you more tea in the morning." She waited until he was curled up in bed again and pulled the blankets over him, tucking them gently around his shoulders.

"Illyria? Thank you."

She smiled down at him. "Feel better, Alistair." With that, she slipped out the door.

* * *

Illyria woke early the next morning and immediately set about brewing some ginger tea, already feeling the swirling beginnings of nausea in her stomach. She made two mugs' worth of the stuff, and brought them with her to Alistair's door. Lacking free hands, she kicked the door lightly with the toe of her boot to announce her presence.

"Hold on," came the strained voice at the other end of the door. There was some rustling before the door came open.

"Good morning," she greeted with a smile.

The irritable look on Alistair's face softened when he saw who it was. "Hi." His voice was hoarse and sluggish. He must have just woken up. "You're awfully cheery."

"I brought you more tea," she said brightly. "Sip it carefully, it's hot."

He took the cup from her gratefully. "Thanks."

"Did it help at all last night?"

He nodded. "A little. I think I'd be worse off this morning without it. I still feel terrible, though."

She gave him a sympathetic look. "Well, hopefully you'll feel much better after this batch. If you're feeling up to it later, you should come up on deck. You should be okay if you don't look at the horizon much, and the fresh air would do you good."

He gave a faint chuckle. "I'll try."

"I just came to drop this off." She took a small sip of her own tea. "I think I might even try a little breakfast this morning. Care to join me?"

Alistair blanched at the thought. "No, that sounds like a very bad idea."

"Probably," she agreed. "See you later?"

He smiled. "Yes, I'd like that."

She waved as he disappeared behind the door. Still smiling, she headed to the mess hall for breakfast.

Illyria only ate a light meal of vegetable soup and crackers, not wanting to test the fortitude of her stomach with the thick biscuits and gravy the sailors ate. Tamlen was likely not awake yet. He liked to sleep in when he could get away with it, and there was nothing in particular to do while they were at sea. After she finished eating, she strolled the deck leisurely, feeling relaxed for the first time since she arrived in this strange world. No fighting to do, no plans to be made. Just her and the sea and the waiting for what was to come.

Her thoughts wandered often to the Alistair she had left behind in her world. She wondered what he was doing at that moment, and whether he might still be sleeping. Did he think she was dead? He certainly wouldn't leap to the conclusion that she had been sent to another world. Her heart ached at the thought of what he must be feeling. Illyria closed her eyes and imagined what she would have felt if she watched Alistair disappear in a column of light. The mere idea of it brought pangs of anguish and despair to rest in her chest. She pushed the thoughts away, feeling suddenly terrified that she might never get home.

She opened her eyes and let herself get lost in the glimmering sea and the rushing sound of the ship cutting through the waves. It was best not to think on these things. She could do nothing about it now.

Illyria had been staring at the waves for so long, and was lost so deeply in her thoughts that she hadn't heard the footsteps behind her. "A copper for your thoughts," Alistair said as he came up beside her at the rail.

She started, surprised at his presence.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to scare you."

She chuckled. "It's okay. I should have been paying more attention."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Home," she replied, sighing.

"You must miss it a lot."

"I do."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he offered. "You did the same for me."

She shook her head and turned her gaze back to the waves. "No, I think talking about it might make me more homesick. It's better if I don't dwell on it too much."

He nodded. "I understand. But if you… you know, ever wanted to talk…"

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

Alistair cleared his throat nervously. "For what it's worth, I'd miss you if you left."

She looked up at him and gave him a sad smile. "I'd miss you too."

Suddenly unable to meet her gaze, his eyes darted to the floorboards. "I know we haven't known each other for very long, but… but you've quickly become a very good friend to me. The best friend I can ever remember having, actually."

Illyria felt her heartbeat quicken, and she found herself at a loss for words.

"When you were taking care of me last night," Alistair pressed on, "I felt… safe. Which sounds… silly, considering I'm a warrior and able to defend myself, but… I don't know another word for it. Safe. Looked after."

She reached out her hand to rest against one of his. "I know what you meant."

He nodded. "See? There's that too. I babble and stumble all over my words and make no sense, but you understand me somehow. And I think that's incredible, considering I don't even know what I mean half the time." He looked down at their hands together, and he gulped. "Maybe it's because you're friends with the Alistair in your world, and you've known him for a long time, but I feel like you know me better than anyone."

A sudden sense of dread crept up inside her. Her breath caught in her throat, and she somehow knew what he was about to say. _Oh, gods, he isn't about to…_ "Alistair, I have to tell-" she said, trying to stop him.

He held up a hand. "Please let me finish, or I don't know that I'll get it all out." He took a deep breath. "Illyria, I know it might sound strange, but I've come to… care for you… a great deal. I feel like there's a… a connection between us. I don't know… Maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe I'm fooling myself." He looked up at her hopefully, with a twinkle in his eye. "Am I fooling myself? Or… do you think you might ever feel the same way about me?"

The words. Nearly the very same words her husband spoke the first time they kissed. The first time she suspected she might actually be falling in love with a _shemlen_, as impossible as it seemed. Illyria drew away from his hand. From her husband's hand. She cursed herself for her confusion, for the hurt she knew she would have to cause him. "Alistair, I like you. I really like you, but…"

The brief flash of relief on his face turned to trepidation at the last word. "But?"

"Alistair, I'm sorry, but I'm married." Her mind warred with itself, trying to find reason in her situation. _But I'm married to him! But, not to him, to his double on another world. But isn't he the same person? Isn't he not the same person?_ The whole thing made her head spin, and the only fact she was sure of right then was that she was hurting the person she loved most in the world. In any world.

Alistair looked stunned. "You're… married?"

She nodded.

His surprise gave way to embarrassment, and he turned away from her in an effort to hide his humiliation. "Of… of course you are. Strong, beautiful woman such as yourself? Of course you're married." A thought came to him. "And you have that ring. Yes, I… I should have seen it before. I'm sorry, I should have realized…"

Illyria shook her head vehemently. "No, don't apologize. I should've mentioned it earlier. It just didn't seem… relevant before. And it's not as if I wear the ring on my finger. It's because I'm usually wearing gauntlets, so the ring gets in the way…" She was babbling. She never babbled. "There's no way you could have known. I'm so sorry, Alistair. I should have told you."

"I'll just leave now," he said, suddenly turning towards the door to the cabins. "You must think I'm such an idiot."

She caught his arm. "Hey. Don't say that. You're not an idiot."

"That's something at least," he murmured.

"I do care for you, you know," she told him. It was important to her that he know. "I care for you immensely."

Alistair gave her a sad smile. "But as a friend, right? Or as a brother?" He sighed. "I appreciate that, but that's just… not what I wanted to hear right now. Or, at least, not the way I wanted to hear it."

"Alistair…" _No, not as a friend. Not as a brother._

He gently pulled his arm out of her hand. "Illyria, I'd just like to be alone right now. I need to think. Or perhaps throw up a little." With that, he went through the door to the lower decks.

It was Illyria's turn to sigh. She ran her hands through her hair, wondering how her life had come to be so complicated.

She heard a chuckle from around the corner. "Well, that went swimmingly."

Illyria gave Tamlen a withering look as he came out from behind the corner to face her. "How long have you been eavesdropping?"

"Long enough. It was quite entertaining," he said, chuckling again.

She shoved him lightly on the arm. "You're terrible."

They walked together to the rail at the bow of the ship and looked back out at the sea.

"Why don't you tell him?" Tamlen asked after a brief silence.

She frowned. "And say what, exactly? 'Hello, we've only known each other for two weeks but on another world, I'm your wife'? 'Hi, we've only just met, but I know what you look like naked'?"

Tamlen's face twisted in disgust. "Gods, Illyria, I really did _not_ want to hear that!"

She laughed. "Oh, don't be immature," she teased. "Besides, I could tell him, but to what end? It's not as if we could be together. I'm married. Happily so."

"Yes, but you're married to _him_."

"How much does that matter, really? He looks like my husband, and acts like my husband. I may even love him like I love my husband. But they're not the same person."

"Alistair might not see it that way," Tamlen pointed out.

"_My_ Alistair would," she replied. She paced the deck slowly, trying to work her thoughts and feelings into something that made sense. "I don't really know how this other world thing works. Nor can I deny the fact that I'm so utterly confused when I'm with Alistair. When I'm with him, I feel like I'm with my husband. I forget that we've only known each other for a couple weeks."

"I noticed," Tamlen interjected, smirking.

She smiled briefly at him. "Like I said, it's confusing. But it still seems clear to me that being married to one doesn't mean it's okay to have a relationship with the other." She paused but continued to pace. "One Alistair is in my world, thinking I'm dead or worse. The other is here, on the way to Val Royeaux. They're the same, but separate. Like really identical twins, maybe."

"But what happens if you can't return home, _lethallan_?" he asked gently.

Illyria frowned. She didn't want to think about that possibility. "I'll worry about it if it comes to that." She cast a sad look toward the door to the cabins. "I feel badly for him, but perhaps he'll come to understand in time."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** I've caught up to where I've written ahead, so if updates are a little less frequent going forward, I apologize. I've been trying to write on this consistently, so hopefully you won't find the wait to be too bad. ;) And, as always, thank you to all those who review, and add to alerts and favorites!

* * *

The voyage went without incident the next two days. Illyria barely saw Alistair during their remaining time on the ship, catching glimpses of him across the deck or in the mess hall, but their eyes never met. She continued to bring him ginger tea every morning and evening, but after he didn't answer the door when she knocked that third morning at sea, she took to merely leaving the mug in front of the door. The empty mug always found its way back to the front of her door an hour or so later. Illyria didn't seek him out, thinking he was probably avoiding her. If he still wanted to be friends, he would come to her in his own time.

They disembarked in Val Chevin on a bright afternoon. The contrast between Orlais and Ferelden was immediately clear, with lush, untainted greenery surrounding the town and the docks alive with activity. The air felt unseasonably warm to the native Fereldans, unused to mild weather any sooner than the Satinalia holidays. They shed their heavy winter cloaks and walked comfortably about the town.

"Everything's so _green_," Alistair said in an awed voice as he gazed at the potted trees and flowers dotting the cobblestone streets. "I'd forgotten how beautiful everything is when it isn't Blighted or enclosed in stone."

Illyria smiled up at him sadly. Even she was amazed at the verdant hills surrounding the town, and she had been in an untainted Ferelden only two weeks ago. She couldn't imagine how Alistair and Tamlen must be feeling looking at it all, having lived in the dark nothingness of the Blight for three years.

"As nice as it would be to stay at an inn tonight," Illyria said, "we have enough sunlight to get a head start on our journey to Val Royeaux. I think we should just gather what supplies we need and get going."

Tamlen nodded. "Agreed. We have been idle for too long."

Alistair gave his own short nod, though he looked somewhat disappointed.

They parted ways to gather supplies, agreeing to meet at the western gate of the town in an hour. As she wandered Val Chevin, Illyria marveled at the strange hairstyles, shoes, and hats adorning passersby. Ladies looked down their noses at her as she passed. They looked like fruit baskets, with apples and oranges dotting their intricately woven hair. Leliana had not exaggerated when she told her about the crazy fashions in Orlais, and Illyria wondered if this was tame compared to what she might find in the trendy shopping districts of Val Royeaux. She was disgusted by this other stark contrast to Ferelden. While people in the southeast were starving for fresh fruits and vegetables, the Orlesians were wearing them as hair accessories.

After spending what little money she had left on food and poultices, Illyria met up with the others at the gate and made their way southwest. Rather than taking the Imperial Highway, they chose to stay close to the coast and cut through the grasslands and woods in a direct route to the Imperial capitol.

Illyria fell back to walk alongside Alistair. "Feeling better?"

Alistair nodded. "It's amazing what being on solid ground can do. Look! I can even walk straight."

She smiled. "I'm glad."

"I'm sorry for avoiding you the past couple days," he said, looking down at her seriously. "Your friendship means a lot to me, and I don't want my stupid pride to get in the way of that."

"I understand, Alistair. I'm sorry again for not telling you sooner. I never meant to hurt you." Illyria decided then that she had to figure out how to be just friends with this Alistair, and not treat him as a surrogate husband. It wasn't fair to him, and she knew she had been sending mixed signals.

He waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. Really. I should have asked."

It would take them another 2 weeks on foot to reach Val Royeaux. The journey was considerably easier than the one from Orzammar to Jader, and they made good time. They were interrupted by occasional bandits and raids of darkspawn, but it was nowhere near the constant level of attacks they faced in Ferelden.

One such attack occurred when they were about 3 days away from the Orlesian capitol city. The Grey Wardens stopped, sensing the darkspawn moments before they emerged from the ground. Suddenly, they were everywhere – genlocks and hurlocks and emissaries all around them. The three Wardens flew into action, with Alistair and Illyria moving in opposite directions while Tamlen remained in the middle, picking them off one at a time with his arrows. Illyria's sword sliced through the air, sending a shockwave against the darkspawn to drive them back. She hacked at them mercilessly, and their tainted blood spilled on the ground, eating away at the grass where it landed.

Out of the corner of her eye, Illyria saw Tamlen run past, loosing arrow after arrow in quick succession. His feet stepped deftly around rocks and corpses alike, never missing a beat as he unleashed a barrage of arrows at the creatures. His face was passive – almost bored – while he circled the raiding party and thinned their numbers.

Alistair had immediately cut his way through to both of the emissaries, two hurlocks with gnarled wooden staffs. He purged the area of magical traps and pummeled one emissary with his shield, sending the darkspawn staggering backward. He plunged his sword into his fallen foe before turning in a single fluid movement, bashing into the other emissary with his shield. Gathering the remnants of its strength, the emissary let loose a chain of lightning that struck Alistair, then Tamlen, then finally Illyria.

The electricity coursed through Illyria's body as if she were made of copper. Her skin burned hot. And in the haze of her pain, she felt the familiar sensation of fading away.

* * *

The dog was barking again. Alistair groaned and sat up on his bedroll, rubbing at his eyes with curled fists. Not thinking, he reached down beside him, only to find the space next to him empty. And, as with each time he had done so in the past month, his heart ached with loss.

The dog's barking was more urgent now. Reluctant as Alistair was to admit it, he loved the silly mabari, but he often wondered if the dog made too good of a watch guard. It seemed that Satsuma barked at every little thing that disturbed the forest. But as Alistair pulled on a shirt, a flash of light burst beyond the flaps of the tent, followed by the low rumble of thunder. He frowned. The sky had been clear before he went to bed. Surely there wasn't a storm…

Alistair crawled out of the tent, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the firelight. His eyes focused. No, it couldn't be. His breath caught in his chest and a lump formed in his throat. He stared, transfixed, unable to move or speak.

Across the campfire, crouched and surrounded in bluish light, was Illyria.

Satsuma's ecstatic barking brought Alistair to his senses. "Lyri…" he breathed. Suddenly, his feet were moving – running, racing to her side. "Lyri!"

"_Emma lath_?" she whispered wondrously. There was obvious pain on her face, but she beamed with surprise and joy.

As soon as he reached her, Alistair pulled her into a fierce embrace, not caring that her platemail dug into his shoulders or that the energy surrounding her crackled painfully on his skin. "You're real…" he sighed into her chestnut hair. "You're alive! Oh, Maker, thank you… thank you…" He pulled back and cupped the back of her head with his hand, kissing her deeply. Electricity snapped at his lips, but the discomfort was nothing compared to the joy of feeling her again.

They stayed joined like that for some time until they finally had to come up for air. "Maker's Breath, Lyri! I've missed you!" he cried, taking in the sight of her.

"Oh, Alistair, I've missed you too," she said, laughing as she blinked up at him with over bright eyes.

It was then, as he looked her over, that he noticed black stains of darkspawn blood on her armor. A flood of questions came over him at once. "What happened? Where did you go? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, _emma lath_," she told him gently. "But it's difficult to explain. Do you remember those books you read in the Chantry library?"

He nodded. "What about them?"

"The blood mage sent me to another world. Everything is so different there. The Blight hasn't ended yet."

"The Blight?" His eyes widened in understanding.

"It's terrible. Almost all of Ferelden has been destroyed," she said in a soft voice.

He took one of her hands in both of his. "But you're all right now. You're here."

Illyria looked around. "Where are we?"

"Just south of West Hill," Alistair replied. "I've just come from the Circle Tower. I was trying to find out more information about the spell the blood mage cast on you, but since blood magic is forbidden, they wouldn't let me look at any books about it." He gritted his teeth in frustration. "Forget that I couldn't cast any magic, even if I wanted to. But from what I gathered asking around, the spell he cast on you was very powerful, and very rarely used."

"Alistair…"

"I was going to travel up to Tevinter, to see if they knew anything about it. That's why I was headed up to West Hill. I figured I could take a ship up to Cumberland and cut across Nevarra. But now that you're here…"

"Alistair," she said more urgently.

"What is it, love?"

"I… I don't think I'm staying." Illyria held up her free hand. He could just barely see through it, as if it were made of stained glass.

"No…" He looked down at the hand he was holding. He could hardly feel it anymore.

Ghosts of tears came to her eyes. The light that had surrounded her was fading fast. "I love you, _emma lath_," she said in a choked voice. "I'll find my way back to you."

"No, Lyri!" Alistair gripped her hand, but his fingers passed right through it. He stared at it in horror. "No, please don't go…"

"I'm sorry," she whispered. He could see through her now. The smoke from the fire was more corporeal than she was.

"I love you, Lyri. Please come back to me," he pleaded.

Illyria nodded. Her mouth moved, but he could no longer hear the words.

Alistair watched her slowly disappear, and even after she had completely gone, he still stared at the spot where she sat just moments before.

After a few minutes, he shook himself and wiped at his eyes roughly with his sleeve. He got to his feet and turned to Illyria's dog. "Let's pack up camp early, Satsuma," he said, his voice heavy with grim determination. "It's a long way to Tevinter."


End file.
